THE BOOK OF DEVOTIONAL CINEMA AND REPETITION IN THE BLANK

“It is always the enemy
who started it, even if he was not the first to speak out, he was certainly
planning it; and if he was not actually planning it, he was thinking of it; and,
if he was not thinking of it, he would have thought of it.”

CANETTI

(two
troubadours—lying on grass—watch a wounded lamb writhe in the air—their
maternal theologies clash with a want to assassinate before a paragon—this is
duty’s meaning—abridged compositions in the hair of a girl—like Ashbery walking
to church)

—Are you among the landscape?

—That’s only a setting.

—Being held.

—Holding what?

—The tutor.

—She’s seen crying through a
night-window.

—Like looking at death’s flame
in a burning glass.

—Like the elegant narrative of
a brunette.

—Like the vulgar mirth of a
blonde.

—Please, ameliorate my face.

—I’m unsafe with each look to
it.

—You’ll soon be in your last
cradle.

—And after?

—Snowy mammals.

—Sparrows and horses.

—Wait, there’s light shining
through your somniferous skull.

—And yours, a sheet covering
the edge.

—Detestation begins instantly.

—As him.

—As he in Turin.

—As he in Turin with sparrows
and horses.

—They entered.

—And he, they.

—Etc. etc. etc.

—The boundaries?

—Don’t let them in.

—They’re cruel.

—To an architect.

—To one who governs the pauses.

—To perfidy.

—And commotion.

—Scalding the ecclesiastical
field.

—Losing us as we lose another.

—And on and on and on.

—I say.

—Say.

—Said, your divine genealogy’s
squandered.

—Then it’s a totemic era.

—A pre-verbal epoch.

—Our calling altered in the
dark.

—Obscure enough to adjust the
chromatic pitch.

—Spirit/Presencing/Antiphony…

—Will anyone sing?

—Only a deprived nous.

—Or former scales.

—Of former days.

—Daylight looks into notional
reaction.

—Don’t feel or you’ll be
punished.

—Then, why am I here?

—To ingratiate.

—By repulsion.

—You are the masculine
observer.

—Being seen?

—Being sought after?

—Exploiting the view?

— Obsequious viewer.

—Allegedly viewed.

—I AM A KING.

—I am looking at a king.

—On closer inspection.

—Nearer.

—You’re a throng of jubilation.

—I feel concentric pain.

—The devils above.

—To the delineated devils
below.

—Blind.

—Salubrious.

—Expelled.

—Preserved.

—I will cut your throat.

—If you will mine.

—If you hold me close.

—If I’m your child.

“It is possible that finally, like coming to the end of
a long, barely perceptible rise, there is mutual cohesion and interaction.”

ASHBERY

(the
troubadours—prior to the insertion of burning diamonds into eyes and cold
weapons into hands—give eminence to the estate—implicating a room—and
implicating elsewhere—anywhere a judge cannot be named—everywhere the sexless
race wanes—and wants—to be—deserted—forsaken—forgotten)

—How do I study?

—Investigate the one.

—The one first.

—As I close the door.

—Were you struck?

—Many times.

—It would’ve been enough.

—Enough for the other to turn
to me.

—Turn
away from you.

—I
didn’t know.

—That
it suited me.

—Are
you speaking or am I?

—I.

—You’ve become a wolf.

—A
pacified wolf on the steps.

—I
dread when you leave your cage.

—To
enclose is to threaten.

—The
adoration of coercions.

—The
taking of teeth.

—The
making of soap.

“Soap is a sort of stone, but not
natural: sensitive susceptible, complicated.

It has a particular sort of dignity.

Far from taking pleasure (or at least passing its time) in being rolled
around by the forces of nature, it slips between their fingers; it melts before
the eyes rather than let itself be unilaterally rolled about by water.”